


She ain't heavy, she's my sister

by Angelwithbrokenwings, dusty_violet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Case, Brother-Sister Relationships, Character Death, Death, Early in Canon, Epilepsy, Episode: s01e22 Devil's Trap, Episode: s02e01 In My Time of Dying, Gen, Ghosts, Good Parent John Winchester, Grief/Mourning, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Misdiagnosis, Post-Stanford, Pre-Series, Pre-Stanford, Protective John Winchester, Protective Sibling Dean, Reader-Insert, Sam Leaves for Stanford, Saving People Hunting Things, Seizures, Surgery, Winchester Sister, mention of Bobby Singer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-14 04:30:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10528989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelwithbrokenwings/pseuds/Angelwithbrokenwings, https://archiveofourown.org/users/dusty_violet/pseuds/dusty_violet
Summary: John Winchester has a daughter three years younger than Sam, the brothers' half-sister, who lives and hunts with them. How will the family adapt when she is afflicted with a medical mystery?





	1. Chapter 1

“Pack up the gear and let’s get out of here,” John ordered. “And don’t you dare get blood in my car, Dean!”

“I would never!” Dean gasped.

“Shut up and help me carry the body, Dean, we’ll dump it along the way,” Sam retorted.

“And what am I supposed to carry?” you asked.

“You carry your ass into the car,” Dean quipped.

“Don't talk to your sister like that,” your father scolded your half-brother.

“I’m alright with not doing any heavy lifting!” you chimed, skipping past the boys.

“I’ll get you dinner on the way back to the motel, then we move out again in the morning,” John informed them.

The four of you piled into the Impala and set off back ‘home’. It was about an hour drive before you got back, and the road was really bumpy. You sat in the backseat with your half-brother Sam, listening to him talk about his latest research on ghouls.

“Yeah, did you know that in the 1600s, ghouls came over to America on the same ships as the pilgrims?” he asked. “They used to only be in Europe!” He nudged you. “Y/N, are you even listening to me? Y/N?”

“Huh? What? Sorry Sammy I must have dozed off,” you muttered, confused not realizing you had blacked out.

“That’s not like you; you must be really tired or something,” he responded. “You didn’t hit your head or anything on that hunt, did you?”

“I don’t think so, I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep much last night.”

Sam put his arm around your shoulder and tugged you closer to him. “Rest your eyes for a little bit, okay? I’ll tell you when we get back.”

You dropped your head onto Sam’s shoulder and let your eyelids fall shut. The road went on for miles underneath you until you finally arrived at the diner across the street from the motel.

“Y/N, wake up we’re back at the motel, wanna get something from the diner?” Sam asked, gently nudging you awake.

“Chicken fingers and fries?” you asked.

Dean chuckled. “That’s my kid sister, always ordering off the kids’ menu!”

“I’m little and chicken is tasty,” you pouted.

“14 ain’t exactly little anymore,” your father corrected you. “You could have a vegetable every once in a while.”

“I’m littler than all of you giants and I was gonna order the fruit bowl.” Sam smiled at your retort.

“Come on, I’m starving here!” Dean shouted walking towards the diner already.

The diner had a sign by the front door that said “Please Seat Yourself” so you did exactly that, John picking the booth near the side door in case you needed to make a strategic exit. Soon a waitress came over to take your orders.

“Do you folks want to hear today’s specials, or do you know what you want?” She was direct, but not impolite.

“I already know what I’m having!” You bounced excitedly.

“You and your chicken nuggets!” John smiled. “I’ll have the steak and eggs please.”

Your brothers ordered their meals and you slipped into easy conversation over possible next hunts and maybe taking a trip to Bobby’s to rest up for a while.

It didn’t take long for your orders to arrive and soon enough you were all enjoying your well deserved meals.

“You got enough ketchup on that chicken?” Dean pestered you.

“Ketchup’s a vegetable,” you sassed back.

“Technically it would be a fruit,” Sam interrupted.

“Smartass,” Dean mumbled.

“What did you call me?”

“Can we not just eat a meal in peace?” John sighed.

“Yeah, _children_ , can’t you behave in public?” Sam asked.

“Don’t you call me a child, you oversized infant!” Dean retorted.

“Yeah Sam, I thought you were on our side!” you joined in. “Not Dad’s!”

“There’s no sides!” Sam argued. “We’re all on the same side! One big happy family!”

“Happy?!” Dean bellowed. “Does this look happy to you?”

John glared at all of you, and slowly took a deliberate bite of his steak, exaggerating his chewing.

“Dean?” you tried to get his attention. “Dean, I don’t…”

“Not now, Y/N!” he brushed you off.

“But Dean-”

“Y/N, please!”

“No, seriously, Dean,” Sam interrupted, pointing at you. “Dad-”

He was unable to finish his sentence when you went limp, falling out of the side of the booth onto the floor and beginning to convulse from head to toe.

“Shit!” John swore. Immediately he jumped into action, sliding out of the booth and kneeling beside you.

“What can I do?” Dean asked jumping out of the booth and kneeling by your other side.

“Dad, should I call 9-1-1?” Sam asked.

“Shut up, all of you,” John yelled. “I got this.”

John looked at his watch, timing your convulsions. “It’s alright sweetheart,” he soothed. “Keep talking to her Dean, she can hear you.”

Dean, like Sam, was just staring at you, frozen in place with all the color drained from his face in fear.

“Dean!” John shouted louder, snapping Dean from his trance.

“Oh goodness!” The Winchesters turned to see the waitress standing there with her hands over her mouth in shock.

“Dad, she’s not stopping…” Sam began.

John checked his watch. “Only been two minutes, son. These things can last a few minutes.”

“Dad…” Dean turned to his father.

“I know,” John nodded, he continued stroking your hair, comforting you the only way he could.

Finally, the shaking grew weaker and slowed to a stop, and your body was still. John leaned in close to your mouth, checking for your breathing. Then he rested his fingers against your neck for your pulse.

“Dad?” Dean whispered. “She’s okay, right?”

“Yeah, she’s breathing, got a strong heartbeat.”

Sam and Dean both let out a breath they didn’t know they were holding.

“Do you need an ambulance or anything? Is she okay?” The waitress chimed, the Winchesters had forgotten where they were for a moment.

“Is she bleeding?” The waitress called again more urgent this time.

Dean stuck his finger in the red puddle below you, sniffed it, then put it in his mouth. Sam gave him a strange look. “Nah, look, it’s just ketchup!”

You began to stir slightly, making a soft groan, but not yet speaking.

“Y/N? Sweetheart, can you hear me?” John asked softly.

You groaned again, still not able to speak.

John continued, “You’re safe, alright? Your brothers and I are here, and we’ve got ya, we’re going to take care of you. Just take your time and come back to us when you’re ready, okay?”

“Daddy?” You breathed, slowly becoming more aware of your surroundings.

“Yeah, angel, it’s me,” John smiled back at you. “Don’t get up yet, alright? How do you feel?”

“Like a smoothie.”

“Come again?” Dean smiled.

“Smoothie, Deedee,” you repeated, sighing and closing your eyes again, tired from the day's events.

“Does she _want_ a smoothie?” Sam asked, confused. “I can get her one…?”

“No food just yet,” John answered. “Do you hurt anywhere? Do you know where you are, and what day it is? Do you remember what happened?”

“Tired…” you replied. “Stiff. Sore. Dunno.”

“Y/N, this is important, can you tell me if you have any pain in your back?”

“Nuh-uh,” you responded, becoming more aware. “Gotta move. Think the floor’s wet.”

John looked down to see the floor underneath you was wet. You had had an accident when your body lost control.

Dean noticed too and immediately shook his jacket it off placing it over you. “It’s alright, we’ll get you cleaned up.”

John scooped you up in his arms and carried you across the street to the motel, the meal and the check forgotten in the commotion.

“Y/N sweetheart, we need to get you changed, are you okay to do it yourself?”

“Yeah,” you insisted.

“I’ll go run a shallow bath, keep the door unlocked and keep talking to us okay? We’ll leave your pj’s in there too,” John said leading you into the bathroom, sitting you on the side.

While you got yourself cleaned up, John sat down with the boys explaining what had happened and making sure they were okay. When you walked out of the bathroom, they were still discussing.

“But dad, you’re sure she doesn’t need to get checked out?” Sam was arguing.

“Yeah, dad, that looked really serious,” Dean continued. “You’re sure she doesn’t need to see a doc?”

“Relax, boys, she’s fine. Look!” he pointed towards you. “You feel fine now, Y/N, don’t you?”

“I’m good,” you reassured them. “You don't have to worry about me.”  
“These things happen with tiredness and stress, which we have all had a lot of lately, I’ll keep an eye on her tonight.” John explained. “Now, get some sleep, all of you.”

John was true to his word and kept an eye on you all night. The next morning you woke up feeling a lot better, your muscles were a little sore but you felt good. John checked you over and agreed that you were doing a lot better, he also agreed that it was time for a break for all of you. So that morning when you all woke up, you packed the impala and headed to Bobby’s. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two Months Later

John approached his younger son clutching a packet of papers in his hands. “Sam?” he began threateningly.

You almost missed Sam’s subtle flinch. “Yes, dad?” he asked.

Dad slammed the papers on the table in front of Sam. You could see a large red logo on the top of the page, along with the words  _ Stanford University _ . “When were you gonna tell me about this?” he bellowed.

“I, uh…” your brother began. “Dad, please, let me explain-”

“Explain what?! How you were going to turn your back on this family and leave - without even saying goodbye?” 

“Is that true, Sam?” Dean questioned, wandering in to check out the shouting.

Sam swallowed, feeling the eyes on him, judging him. “Dean, it’s not like that… You know I’m not like you… This life isn’t what I want.”

“You think I wanted this?” John interrupted. “For myself - for you kids? Of course not! But I had no choice after what happened to your mother, Sam. Your mother was murdered! You have no choice!”

“I do have a choice, Dad! I don’t want to spend my life angry and hell-bent on revenge!” Sam argued, his chest heaving. “You’re obsessed! Mom’s gone, and killing all the demons in the world will never bring her back to us!”

“But it will stop them from killing someone else’s mom!” John snarled.

“Dad, I just… I’m so sick of all this supernatural crap. All I want is a normal life: a job, a wife, a family. If we keep on killing monsters, one day we are all going to die and there won’t be any hunters left to save the world.” Sam sighed.

“Samsie?” you sniffed.  

“I’m not leaving you,” Sam promised, looking from you to Dean. “I’m not abandoning my family.”

“But you are,” you spoke, letting a tear fall from your eye.  

“Just for a couple years, just so I can go to school and get a real job,” he assured you. “I can help people, I can make a difference.”

“But...” you were interrupted by John.  

“He’s made his choice, turning his back on us,” he growled.  

“Daddy… Sam… please...” you began. A weird sensation passed through you, and you scrunched your eyes tightly shut. You blinked three times and shook your head, hoping it would fade.

“Y/N sweetheart?” Dean began.  

Before he could get out another word, you involuntarily dropped to the ground and convulsed wildly, banging your head repeatedly against the floor.

“Y/N!” Dean called as he dropped to his knees at your side, moving you so you couldn’t hurt yourself.  

John followed his older son’s lead and fell to your other side.  “You’re alright sweetheart.” Together they carefully rolled you on your side and shoved a pillow under your head to keep it from hitting the floor again.

Sam made a move forward, but was stopped by John’s outstretched hand.  “Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”

“Sammy!  Wait outside and cool off, get the front desk to call an ambulance.” 

Sam hesitated for a moment, frozen in fear at your shaking form.  

“Sammy!” Dean called louder, breaking him from his trance. Your brother finally left the room and turned towards the front desk of the motel. 

“Dad, her head’s bleeding, she must’ve hit it on the way down.” John immediately fished a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to your scalp firmly.  

Time seemed to stretch on as your body continued to shake unconsciously, until the tremors finally began to slow.  

“Check her breathing Dean!” John ordered as he checked your head wound and pulse.  

The pair were interrupted by a knock on the door.  “Sammy, get in here!”  

“Paramedics,” an unfamiliar voice announced as two men walked in with a bag of gear and a stretcher.  

“She’s been seizing for roughly 5 minutes; she hit her head on the way down.  She had one about two months ago but we thought it was stress” John began relaying the information to the paramedics.  Then the medical team took over, quickly assessing your vital signs and monitoring you with their equipment. Not long after that, you started to wake.

You started to swat away the hands you felt putting something cold over your mouth.  “Noooo,” you moaned tiredly.  

Dean’s hands wrapped around both of yours, gently holding them still. “Shhh, sis. It’s only oxygen. Just breathe, okay?”

“I don’t… noooo!” you batted away the paramedic’s hand a little harder this time pulling the mask off.  You could vaguely hear your brother asking the one closest to you if the oxygen was really necessary.  

John moved closer to you, placing the mask back over your face gently.  “Shh sweetheart, it’s okay, you’re going to be okay,” he soothed.  “Can you keep this on for me?” He asked.  

“Kay.” You instinctively became more obedient when you recognized your father’s voice.  

You moved to pull off the mask once more, not fully understanding what your dad had asked.  

“Y/N - don’t.” John scolded, gripping you more firmly to hold you still.  

“Daddy no!” you wailed and struggled like a feral animal against his hold, a hunter’s defensive instincts kicking in.

“Sir, if you can’t calm her down, we’re going to have to sedate her,” the paramedic on your left cautioned John.

“Please, Y/N,” your father pleaded. “Dean, help me out here, son!”

Dean stroked your hair lovingly. “Shhh, Y/N, don’t fight. You’re safe. I promise, we’ve got you.”

“Please stop struggling,” John begged as you fought even harder.

You cried out when the needle jabbed into your arm. Within a few minutes, you fought less and less, growing calmer in your family’s embrace. 

“What the hell did you do?  We had it covered!” John yelled.  

The other paramedic turned to him. “She wasn’t stopping, and we can’t treat a combative patient. It’s not safe for her or for us. Sorry, but we did what we had to.”

“Combative?!” he roared. “She just had a fucking seizure, she’s terrified! And you drugged her!”

Dean touched your father’s arm to steady him. “They’re gonna drug you too, dad, if you’re not careful.”

John shook his son’s hand off. “Fine. Where are you taking her?”

“Smith County General.”

“Dean, go with her,” John commanded. “I’ll be right behind in the car.”  

The paramedics set up an IV and the monitors before moving you onto a backboard and lifting you onto the gurney. Dean grabbed hold of your hand walking beside you.  “You’re going to be okay” he said, trying to convince himself more than anything.  

Dad met you and Dean at the county hospital, where you were wheeled away into a flurry of activity. Despite the chaos in the emergency room, an exhausted, overworked resident managed to get you in for a head CT scan.

“They’ve taken her for a CT dad, they don’t know what’s wrong but they were talking about tumors and strokes and if she was on drugs!” Dean rambled in a panic.  “Dad?  Where’s Sam?” Dean asked looking around.  

“Thought he was with you,” John grunted. “Call him, see where he is.”

Dean nodded. “Yes sir, once we know Y/N is okay.”

A while later a doctor came into the waiting room.  “Is there a Mr. Berry here for Y/N?”

Dean and John both stood up and walked over to the man in the white coat.  “That’s me,” they said in unison.  

They exchanged a confused glance, then Dean sat down and let his father take charge.

“We’ve run a few tests on your daughter, we presume her seizure was down to a mixture of exhaustion and dehydration, you said this has happened once before when she was feeling extreme emotional stress?”

John nodded.

“Then it was probably a psychogenic seizure,” the doctor summarized. “You should keep an eye on her stress levels.”

“Probably?! That’s it?” Dean interrupted. “She’s having seizures and you want us to sign her up for a yoga class?!”

John held his hand up signaling for Dean to stop talking.  “Can we see her now?” John asked.  

“Yes, she should be waking up soon,” the doctor informed before calling a nurse to take them to your room.  

The boys walked into your room and saw you lying motionless on the bed as if you were sound asleep. John stepped in first, coming up to your side and smoothing your hair off your face. Dean followed, pulling up a chair next to the bed. He took a seat while carefully holding your hand, avoiding your IV tubing.

“Time to wake up, Y/N,” John whispered. Your eyelids fluttered.

“Hey sis - you awake?” Dean asked, rubbing your arm lightly.

You lifted the hand closest to your dad and reached up to his face, feeling for his nose and then tapping it.  “Where is the snooze on this thing?” you grumbled.  

Dean smiled. “No more snoozing. You gotta wake up and tell us how you feel. Can you do that?”

“Tired,” you grumbled. “ _ Now _ snooze?”

“Yeah sweetheart, have a nap while the rest of the fluids go through.  Then we can get you home.”

Your face scrunched in confusion. “We’re not home now?”

“You’re in the hospital. Do you remember what happened, Y/N?” Dean asked.

“Sammy's goin’ to Stanford - where’s Samsie?” you asked opening your eyes and looking around for him.  

“He’s not here,” John stated.

You struggled to sit up. “Where is he? Is he okay?”

“Easy there, sis,” Dean soothed, squeezing your hand gently. But you only became more agitated.

“Daddy, Deedee, where’s Sammy?” you asked frantically. Your breathing quickened and the heart monitor beeped faster in the background.

John stood up abruptly. “He’s gone, Y/N. He left.” Unable to face his pain, he strolled out into the hallway.

“Dee-” you cried.

“Shhh, don’t cry,” your brother cooed. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close, carefully repositioning you in the bed so he could climb in beside you. “Don’t cry, sis. You’re okay. Shhh, I got you.” Your head dropped to his chest, where your tears soaked his shirt while he rocked you gently. He rubbed your back slowly until your sobs diminished into sniffles and hiccups and the monitors resumed their normal sounds. “That’s a good girl, just breathe for me, alright? I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

John re-entered the room about twenty minutes later with your discharge papers. “There’s nothing more they can do for her,” he remarked to Dean. “Let’s go home.”

Your brother called a nurse to help you change out of the hospital gown, and you were soon on your way back to the run-down old motel room you called home this week.

Dean sat in the backseat with you on his chest fast asleep.  “Do you think she is going to be okay dad?” Dean whispered.  

“I don’t know son,” he replied, looking sadly at his two children in the rearview mirror.  “I don’t know.”


	3. Chapter 3

A few months later, you, Dean, and John were in the Impala on your way to another hunt.  Your father had seen a newspaper article that didn’t quite make sense, and that was usually your type of thing.

“Does everyone remember the plan?” John questioned.

“Yes sir,” Dean replied. “Y/N and I will interview the townspeople while you find out what the local cops know so far.”

“We’ll meet back at the Parkside Motel in four hours to share what clues we got,” John finished. He looked back at you in the rear view mirror. “Y/N, you listening?”

You were staring blankly out your window, not really focused on anything.

“Y/N!” Dean called.

“Huh?” 

“Did you just ignore everything we just said?” 

“No, Dean and I go interview friends and family, like always,” you answered. In truth, you hadn’t heard the plan, but lucky for you, the strategy was usually the same every time.  

“You feeling okay Y/N?  You had enough water today?” your father asked.  “Need you okay for this hunt.” 

You nodded in reply and the rest of the journey was spent in silence.  

When you arrived in town, your dad dropped you and Dean off on the missing man’s street so you could talk to his neighbors first. You talked to the chairman of the neighborhood watch committee, the lady who watered his lawn when he went out of town, and the kids down the street who raked his leaves in the fall. Last, you knocked on his door to talk to his distraught wife.

“This one’s on you sis. You’re a woman, you can deal with all of that” Dean gestured.  

You sighed and rolled your eyes. “You’re so sexist sometimes, Dean. She’s a person like any other person we talk to. But you’re right, I’m better with feelings than you are - you emotionally stunted baby.”

“Wow, you are so mean!” Dean retorted, in mock hurt.  When the door opened, his face turned to one of surprise. The missing man’s wife was a total babe.

Dean shoved you slightly out of the way, once again taking the lead and signalling that he had this one covered.  “Hello, ma’am, we’re with the local paper.  I’m Dean Smith and this is Y/N Fleischmann, she’s on a summer internship with us.  Is it okay if we ask you a few questions about your husband?”  

She nodded and turned signalling you both to follow her in.  You nudged Dean in the side. “Dude, you know I hate that name,” you whispered.  

“Please, sit,” the woman insisted, pointing to her sofa. The two of you sat down opposite her and took out your notepads. “What would you like to know?”

“Did your husband act strange before his death?  Did you notice any unusual behaviors, smells, lights flickering on or off?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Smooth,” you muttered under your breath.  

“He came home a few nights before, he was acting strange, saying he ran into someone he used to know but wouldn’t tell me anything else.  If I knew any better I would say he was almost scared.  The police ruled out foul play though,” she recalled.  

“Did your husband have any enemies?” you asked.  

“No, everybody loved him, he was so helpful and everyone in the neighborhood knew and liked Jim.” She smiled, obviously remembering him fondly.  

The lady paused for a moment. “The night I found him,” she paused holding back her emotions, “I don’t know why it matters, but the power was acting strange, lights flickering and I shouted for him to turn the heat up and when he didn’t reply, that’s when I went looking for him and…” she trailed off in tears.  

Dean held out a hand to comfort her. “He’s no longer in pain, I’m really sorry for your loss.”  The woman put her hand over Dean’s looking up to face him. “Thank you.”  

“Alright!” you interrupted, dragging Dean to his feet. “We’ve got everything we need, thank you.” 

When you were outside of the house you turned to Dean, “What the hell was that?  Hitting on a widow, could you be any more obvious!”  You hit his arm again, “come on, dad will be waiting.”  

When they got back to the motel, John was already inside taking notes in his journal. “What did you kids find?” he asked, not looking up.

“Normal guy, pillar of his community…” Dean began.

“They always say that,” you and your dad said at the same time. John looked up and you shared a smile.

“Up until the night the lights flickered and the wife noticed a cold spot,” your brother finished.

“Ghost,” you added.

John nodded. “Yeah, that matches what I saw on the body.”

“Wait…” you paused, “the wife said something about him being scared, running into someone from the past but not wanting to talk about it, could it be vengeful?”  

John looked at you. “His records were clean, he worked for a delivery company, didn’t show up to work after one night.”  

“You think something happened that night?” Dean asked.  

“I’ll speak to the company, see if they know anything,” John replied.  

You and Dean had gone to get food while John visited the company.  You once again met back at the motel.  You were asleep on the bed, while Dean was sitting on the sofa watching a rerun of an old film.  

“You find anything dad?” Dean asked.  

“Yeah, wake your sister up and meet me in the car.  I’ll explain on the way.” he replied picking up his journal and gun before leaving the room.  

Dean shook your shoulder, hard. “Up and at ‘em, sleepyhead,” he ordered. You blinked slowly, fighting to break free from your deep sleep.

“Five more minutes?” you asked, yawning.  

“Nope, dad knows what we’re hunting, he’s gonna explain in the car.”  

“Okay” you stomped out of bed grumpily.  

“You’re adorable when you’re angry” Dean said rubbing your head and guiding you out of the door with his hand on your back.  

“What’s going on daddy?” 

“Turns out our nice guy, wasn’t so nice.  Hit and run, the night he gave up his job.  He called an ambulance but didn’t stick around; it was too late anyway, kid was dead.”  

“And our ghost… is the kid?” you asked.  

“16 year old Braydon Jones, walking home from the library.”  

You nodded quietly, that could have been anyone, it could have been Sam.  You pushed that thought to the back of your mind.  

“So, I’m guessing he was buried and this is a simple salt a burn, right dad?” Dean questioned.  

“Yeah” John sighed, “man I hate dealing with the kids.”  

Your dad and brother finished packing the gear into the trunk of the Impala, and you all climbed in and hit the road towards the nearby cemetery.

“So here’s the plan-” John began. But you couldn’t focus on his words; you must have blanked out, because the next thing you remember was Dean opening the car door for you, waving his hand in front of your face.

“Hey! Anybody home?” he teased.

“What?”

“You know what you’re doin’?” he asked.

“Salt ‘n burn. Let’s go!” you replied.

“Atta girl!” Your dad called, hearing your enthusiasm and thinking you were ready to go.

“You sure you don’t want to sit this one out?  Me and dad can handle it.”  

“Not my first ghost, Dean. Besides, I can’t let you and dad take all the fun for yourselves!”

“Fine, not my fault when we use you as ghost s’mores!”  

“Well, I happen to like s’mores and have my lucky lighter!” you retorted. Sam had given you that lighter on your thirteenth birthday, when he said you were finally old enough to light things on fire.  

You were on look out as Dean and John dug the grave.  You started to get a headache but ignored it, you were cold and tired.  

When the grave was finally dug, the boys nodded to you and set off looking for the ghost, while you stayed behind with a container of salt and your lucky lighter. 

Half an hour later, they came sprinting back towards you, screaming “what the hell are you waiting for?! Do it now!”

Frantically, you dumped salt into the coffin and struggled to flick the lighter on. Your father was slashing at the angry ghost with a long iron rod, covered in scratch marks and dripping blood down his face. Dean didn’t look much better off; his shirt was torn and bloody too. At last the lighter flicked on, and you set fire to the bones, ending the spirit’s time on earth.

“What the fuck was that?!” John bellowed. “I told you to wait for the signal! Damned thing nearly clawed my eyeballs out! And your brother looks like hell, too!”

“What are you talking about, Dad? I salted and burned it just like you taught me. You’re both alive, aren’t you?”

“Why do I even bother giving orders if you’re not going to follow them, Y/N?” he scolded.

“Dad?” Dean interrupted. 

“Not now, Dean!”

“But Dad, you’ve got something…”

John turned slowly and you could see the tire iron protruding from his side. “We need to get you to the hospital, daddy - that looks bad,” you assessed.

He reached for it, but Dean caught his hands. “Don’t you dare yank that out,” he ordered. “That could be holding your guts inside. C’mon, let’s get a doc to take that out. I’m driving.”

“I’m so sorry daddy.” 

“Don’t be  _ sorry _ , be more careful!” he grunted, obviously angry and in pain.

You pulled up to the hospital and jumped out of the car, running inside. “Someone help my dad!” you shouted. Some people dressed in scrubs rushed over, and you led them outside to the Impala. Soon your father was laying on a gurney, on his way to X-Ray first and surgery second.

You sat in the waiting room with Dean, who had his cuts cleaned and bandaged. A nice nurse had taken pity on him and given him a space scrub top to wear instead of his bloody, tattered flannel shirt. Fortunately, no one was overly nosy, and you were not subjected to any probing questions.

“Do you think he’s going to be okay?  I didn’t mean to, I didn’t know the signal, I tried Dean I really did!” You trailed off.  

Dean put his arm around you even though it made him wince when the bandages stretched. “He’s going to be fine, Y/N, he always is… wait, you didn’t know the signal?” he stopped, confused.

“He was yelling at me about some signal but he never told me what it was!” you sniffled.

“In the car on the way over,” your brother explained. “He said he was going to shoot off a flare. You didn’t see a road flare go off?”

“Of course I saw the flare, Dean, I’m not blind. He didn’t say anything about a flare! I thought it was just some other driver who needed help!”

“Sweetheart…” Dean was interrupted by a doctor walking up to you both.  

“Your father was very lucky, the bar missed his organs and blood vessels.  We had to sedate him to remove the bar but he’s doing well and will be sore for a few days.  He is still sleeping if you want to come and see him.”  

You both rose and followed her down the hallway to your father’s room. He had just been moved there from the post-surgical ward since his condition was stable. The medical team had cleaned the blood from his face and changed him into a sickly green hospital gown which looked ridiculous on him. He had tubes and wires coming from all over his body.

You held on to Dean sobbing into his chest. “I did this, Deedee!”  

Dean held onto you tighter. “Hey, it’s okay.  We all make mistakes, you didn’t know and he is okay, see.”  

Dean slightly shook you when he felt you hadn’t moved.  “Y/N, sweetheart he’s really okay, see he’s waking up!”  He moved back, pulling away from the hug when you fell heavy against him.  “Y/N?”

You shook violently in Dean’s arms, and he instantly sprung into action, lowering you gently onto the ground. He only stepped away from you for one second to press the nurse call button on John’s hospital bed.

The nurses were surprised that their patient wasn’t the problem. “Help me!” Dean cried.

The nurse checking on John pressed the crash button on his bed, triggering another wave of nurses and doctors running into the room.  Another nurse pulled John’s curtain shut, blocking his view.  

“Sir, you need to step back” a nurse gently pulled Dean away and took his place next to your head, gently holding you on your side.  They started placing wires on your chest, monitoring your condition.  Another nurse came in holding an oxygen tank, handing it to the nurse closest to your head who connected a mask and placed it over your nose and mouth.  

“Did she hit her head?” one nurse asked.  “Does she have any medical conditions?” another called.  They were bombarding him with questions from every direction.  

“She just went limp and started shaking,” Dean replied. “This has happened a couple times, and they always tell us she’s exhausted or stressed out, but it keeps happening!”

“We should take her for more testing,” one nurse replied. “Maybe we can give you a better explanation.” 

“No, I’m not leaving her side!” Dean barked.

Your shaking started to slow and the first thing you were aware of were hands surrounding you.  Then you were being lifted, this seemed to snap you out of the weird haze you were feeling.  You reached out trying to find your brother.  “Dee?” 

He grasped your hand and squeezed it. “Right here, baby sis. You’re going to get some tests, okay? It’s going to be alright.”  

“Noooo,” you started to squirm on the gurney, trying to pull off the oxygen mask and push away the hands keeping you down.  

“Not again” Dean sighed, “just calm down sweetheart, you’re okay, you’re safe” he soothed.  He leaned over you so you could focus on his face. “I’m here, it’s me, Y/N. Please don’t fight.”

“Nooo, I want to go home, go away, get away from me!” you started to push the hands away again.  

“Easy there, sis. You don’t want another needle, do you? Be a good girl and stay still for the nice nurses,” Dean encouraged.

“Sir, we’ll need to run a few tests on your sister, blood tests and take some history, if she can’t stay calm, I can’t trust her around my nurses.”  

Dean ran his hand over his face and sighed, “she isn’t going to calm down for a while yet, do what you need to do.”  He raised a finger and poked it into the man’s chest, “you find out what’s wrong with my little sister.”  With that Dean walked back to your side and sat by your head, stroking your cheek as you drifted off to sleep.  

A few hours later, the doctor came back into your room where your brother and father sat on either side of you.  He gave the older Winchester a disapproving look, “sir you shouldn’t be out of bed, you’ve lost a lot of blood and been through surgery.”  

“Hell if I care,” John growled. “That’s my daughter!”

“Very well, your daughter’s EKG was normal, her blood tests came back negative for drugs, and her previous charts show she has been under extreme stress at times of her seizures, so we think they are psychosomatic, and we’ll be prescribing her anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medication.”  

“You thought my sister was on drugs?  Anxiety?  Is that all you have?” Dean stood up out of his seat raising his voice.  

John slowly stood up and yanked out his IV. “Come on, Dean, we’re getting out of this shit backwoods hospital. They obviously don’t know how to practice medicine here. Get me my pants, and then we can dress your sister.”

“Sir, you can’t just leave in your condition-”

“Try an’ stop me,” he barked.  “Dean, get her prescription and me some pain meds, get her dressed, and meet me at the car. I’ll be out front.”

It took some time to manage it, but Dean somehow got you dressed without looking and manhandled you into a wheelchair. He pushed you past the hospital pharmacy and picked up all the medications prescribed to you and your father, despite the strange looks at the seemingly unconscious girl in the chair. When you finally made it outside, John had just finished signing two AMA forms and thrust them back in the poor assistant’s face.

“You can take your damned medical bullshit and shove it!” he shouted.

“Let’s go, Dad,” Dean urged. The Winchester men picked you up and laid you across the back seat of the car. Dean climbed in beside you, and John covered you with his jacket. Finally, he got in the driver’s seat and drove off with an angry screech of the tires.

When they returned to the motel, Dean tossed the bag of prescriptions to his father and carried you inside, laying you gently on the closest bed. John opened the paper bag and tossed the pill bottles on the bed one by one after reading their labels. “What are these even supposed to do for her?” he mumbled.

“Beats me,” Dean shrugged in reply.

You groaned slightly, moving your hand out to the side searching for your brother or dad.  Dean sat on the side of the bed and held your hand as John brought over a glass of water.  

“Where am I?” you wondered.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” John asked.

“I can’t remember,” you sobbed.  

“Do you remember the hunt?” Dean prompted.

“Uh huh.”

“Do you remember going to the hospital?”

“Kinda?”

“We’re back at the motel now,” John filled in. “Do you remember sleeping here the night before we went hunting?”

You sniffed. “Yeah.”

“What’s wrong with me daddy?  I don’t want to be a freak” you started to cry harder, causing Dean to pick you up and hold you.  

“They think you’re havin’ these because of stress, so they gave us medicine to help you feel better,” John explained. “Do you want to try it, see if that helps?”

“Okay” you sniffed.  

John got the necessary dose out and handed it to you along with the water.  “Here you are sweetheart.”  

“Cheers,” you joked, swallowing the pills easily. You leaned back against your brother for comfort.

“Get some rest sweetheart” Dean rubbed your arm soothingly.  You closed your eyes and fell back asleep on his chest.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam had been back with you and Dean for a while, ever since you both snuck into his dorm room and took off looking for dad - and after what happened with his girlfriend, Jessica.  You were driving back after the events with Meg, all bloody and broken when a truck came out of nowhere, smashing into the Impala.  

You don’t remember much of what happened after the impact.  You were vaguely aware of Sam calling your name but sleep sounded much better.  The next time you came around you were strapped down to a stretcher with paramedics shining lights in your eyes and calling out your vitals to the doctors who were waiting.  “Where’s my dad?  Where’s my brothers?  Sam?  Dean?”  You were interrupted by Sam calling out your name and you let yourself relax a little knowing at least he was okay.  

“We’re taking care of them, don’t you worry,” someone assured you.

You felt Sam’s hand slide into yours. “I’m here; I’m okay, Y/N. The doctors are with dad and Dean now. We don’t know anything else yet.”

“Stay with me, Samsie?” you pleaded.

“I will,” he promised. Now that he’d come back, you were terrified he would leave again.  

“The doctors said you need surgery, your shoulder is worse than they thought so they’ll be taking you up soon, dad’s awake and Dean’s not but he’s doing okay, alright?  Just focus on you.” 

* * *

You were sore after the surgery but happy to know that around the same time you woke up, so did Dean.  Sam had been to get John a coffee and swung by to see you.  As soon as Sam had told you, you demanded Sam take you to see them both straight away, not having seen them since before the crash.  

Sam left you in Dean’s room before heading towards Johns.  That’s when you heard him shouting for help and a crowd of doctors and nurses rushing to his room.  You helped Dean out of bed, both of you wobbly and supporting one another and making your way to your father’s room.  You saw Sam at the door crying, you and Dean clutched him when you saw what was inside.  Your dad was on the bed, his shirt ripped open and wires attached to him while doctors tried to resuscitate him.  

“Daddy…?” you whimpered, swaying.  

Dean held onto you tighter, in shock watching the scene unfold in front of him.  You were glad that he was supporting you, because a weird feeling began creeping over you again, and you felt yourself weaken and black out.  

When you came to, you were laying in a hospital bed with one of your brothers on each side of you. “Where’s Dad?” you mumbled.

“Hey Y/N, you’re awake,” Sam whispered. “Just relax, okay? You’ve had another seizure. The doctors ordered some tests, that’s why you have wires on your head.”

“Nuh uh, don’t touch those,” Dean scolded gently, pulling your hand away. “You slept through the MRI, can you be a good girl for this one now?”

“What happened? Where’s daddy?”

“Shhh, not now sis. We’ll talk about Dad when this is over, alright?” Sam answered.

“No, I need dad!” 

“It’s okay if she gets worked up, it allows us to see her brain waves when she is stressed, it could help us get a better picture of why these seizures keep happening” the nurse stated calmly.  

“You want us to stress her out  _ on purpose _ ?” Dean exclaimed. “Are you  _ trying _ to make her have another one?”

“Relax, Dean, they know what they’re doing,” Sam replied. “She’s in a hospital, she’s safe here.”

“Not on purpose, no.  Her files show she has had them under extreme stress, we just want to cover all the bases.  We’re done here for now though, we have all the results we need,” the nurse said as she began detaching the wires from your head.  

“Ow,” you said absently as each sticker came off, even though it didn’t really hurt. Your nurse checked the rest of your vital signs and your shoulder, and then left you to rest with your brothers.

They were both strangely quiet and refused to answer your questions about dad, which had you worried. Your fears were confirmed when the hospital chaplain came into your room to discuss “final arrangements.”  

“Excuse me?!” 

“Y/N…” Sam spoke softly reaching for your shoulder.  

You shrugged him off. “Not now, Sam!” you turned to the lady in front of you. “Who gave you the right, huh?  You come in here on your high horse - you didn’t even get the right room, no one here is dead!”  

“Y/N...” It was Dean who spoke this time.  

“No…” you turned to look at them. “No, no, do not.  You couldn’t have told me this before?” you raised your voice louder. “Now I have to find out from this bitch?” you gestured towards the chaplain who was still standing awkwardly in front of you.  

Sam looked apologetically at the chaplain. “She doesn’t mean that.”

“No Sam, no I really do mean it! I almost lost my brothers, I had surgery, had another fucking seizure, and now this bitch tells me my father is dead because you two couldn’t? You need to work on your delivery, by the way, lady, because honestly, it sucks!”  

“I’ll just leave these here. I am sorry for your loss.”  With that, the lady left, leaving grief counselling and “what happens after death” leaflets on the bedside table.  

“Please calm down Y/N, we’re all upset too,” Sam began.

“Shut up, Sammy.”

“Hey - don’t start this,” Dean ordered. “I know you’re pissed off at us. Yes, we should have told you sooner. But you were unconscious for a lot of the action here kiddo, what were we supposed to do? Dad’s gone, and we all have to deal with it now. Together. Like a real family.”

“Where was Sammy when I had seizures all the time, huh?  Where was he when I was on all sorts of medicine that made me feel nothing?  Where were you when Dad and Dean had to clean me because I had pissed myself in public, Sam?  When a doctor wanted to send me to a psych ward because no one believed us that I was sick or that I was on drugs?  Where were you Samsie?” you spat.  

“I was trying to get a real, respectable job so we wouldn’t have to live from one motel to the next, risking our lives to kill things that other people don’t even know exist, for no gratitude!” he yelled. “And I can’t even do that without you two bringing this unnatural bullshit back into my life! I wanted better than this for you, Y/N!”

“Yeah, well, look at me now, big brother.”  You turned over in bed facing your back towards Sam. You saw Dean giving him a look, telling him to leave you for a while.  

“Sweetheart, that was…” he trailed off.

“Don’t, Dean,” you commanded.

You looked at him for a moment and then the corners of your mouth turned up and you started laughing hysterically.  “Did you see the look on her face?  Oh god, and she bought leaflets with upset teddy bears on them!  Oh my god!  Dad’s dead and I can’t stop having seizures!” you continued, making yourself laugh even more.  

“Okay crazy, you wanna calm down there?” Dean asked gently. “Do you want some sleepy drugs in your IV tube?”  

“No, I don’t even think it’s funny - I just can’t stop laughing!  Can you get Sam please?” you giggled.  

Dean backed out of the room slowly holding his hands up. “Sure thing sis, I’ll go get him.”

Some time later, Sam walked into your room alone, holding a Get Well Soon teddy bear and a king-size Reese’s peanut butter cup. “Are these still your favorite?” he asked.

You nodded slowly. “I’m sorry Samsie,” you apologized.

“I’m sorry too, Y/N. I never would have left if I knew you were sick. You’re right, I wasn’t there when you needed me.”

“You’re here now, aren’t you?”

He set the gifts down and took your hand. “And I’m not going anywhere ever again, I promise.”

You shook your head. “Don’t promise, Sam. Anything could happen.”

“I’m not leaving you and Dean as long as I’m still alive,” he swore. “Get in here Dean, I can hear you hovering!”

Dean peeked in sheepishly. “Hey, big brother’s gotta make sure the kids play nice.”

You mimed a gagging motion at your oldest brother while Sam had his back turned to you. Dean snickered and Sam spun to look at you, so you quickly stopped. Then Dean made the same face back at you, causing you to burst into a giggle fit.

“What is going on with you two?!’ Sam exclaimed.

“Whatever, I’m just glad you two made up,” Dean replied, grabbing the Jell-O cup from your bedside table. “You gonna eat this?”

You were interrupted by the arrival of your doctor. “Y/N, how are you feeling? You’ve been through quite a lot today.”

‘Understatement of the century,” muttered Dean.

“Fine, I guess,” you answered. 

The doctor examined you briefly. “Well, you’re stable for now. We should be able to send you home maybe tomorrow or the day after. But, we should talk about your test results and your treatment plan going forward.”

“Is it bad?” you gulped. Dean moved closer to you, and Sam gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. 

“Y/N, your test results suggest that you have epilepsy.”

Your jaw dropped.

“The good news is that you don’t have a brain tumor or anything malignant causing the seizures. I think we should wean you off the psychiatric medications you’ve been taking and switch you to an anticonvulsant called topiramate, which should help with your absence seizures as well,” she explained.

“How effective is the medication?” Sam asked. “Will that stop her from having seizures altogether?”

“It might take some trial and error to find the right drug, dosage, or combination of drugs,” your doctor replied. “But medication is an effective treatment - for over 70% of patients, it will control their epilepsy. The prognosis is good, Y/N,” she reassured you with a smile.

“So, how do we handle this?” Dean questioned. 

“You’re going to need a good neurologist, especially for the first few months, until she is completely seizure-free. The neurologist can help you make changes to her lifestyle, if it’s necessary to help get the epilepsy under control. There might be some triggers you’ll need to avoid going forward, like flashing lights and such.” She answered a few more questions for your brothers, and then left to finish her rounds. 

“Did ya get all that, Y/N?” Dean asked, nudging you gently with his shoulder.

“Mostly?” you responded.

“That’s alright, sis,” Sam soothed. “I know that was a lot. We’ll find you a doctor when we get back, and they can help us with everything you need.”

When you left the next day, Dean tore up the grief and loss leaflets and threw them in the trash can. Somehow, some way, the three of you would manage just fine without them.


End file.
